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Topic: All You Need Is Kill (Read 34686 times)

OneShot raced up the staircase like a panther, casing as he went, ignoring the security doorman's cries of "Hey, wait, where you going?!"

By the 7th floor he was breathing a bit, but not out of breath. One more floor led to the roof. Karl pushed open the door, setting off an alarm. Who cares? He was on the roof.

It was freezing up here. The wind blowing twice as strong as it was below. Sweat along his neck cooled and nearly froze, giving him an involuntary chill.

He glanced around with a sniper's eye. Empty. Just the howling wind. Not even an empty shell from the rifle.

He raced around the edges of the roof looking down and suddenly, bam!

Six o'clock. A lime-green joker--you can't make this s**t up--scaling the building's ninety degree wall downwards, a rifle strapped to his back. A GA Precision Crusader, from the looks of it. Nice gun.

Lime-green was somewhere by the 4th floor, Karl figured. Halfway down the opposite side of the building. Moving quickly like some @!#$ing...wait for it...lizard. Lime-green though? Was this the idiot's idea of camouflage against the New York gray?

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Karl can't jump off a building, leastways not 'til he knows Katie's safe. By the time he runs down, the feller on the wall will be gone. But... Karl sees a man with a rifle... that's all. He hasn't seen the man commit any crime - 'less you count the crime against nature of the man's jacket. Can't shoot a man just 'cuz he's got a rifle or extra sticky fingers. What kind of precedent would that set? Sure, the feller is probably up to no good. But probably ain't good enough. Too bad the feller wasn't still up here. He mighta tried to shoot Karl, and then Karl'd know fer sure.

But nothin' says the man should get to keep the rifle. Karl aims his Colt, sighting in...

THEN A month.

*blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam*

Karl looks downrange at the target. He'd need a few more rounds to make it smile like the feller in that movie, but the Colt only holds seven in the mag and one on the chamber. Still, it's enough.

A month since the heart attack that should've killed him. Should've, in the sense of there's no way he could have survived an attack that bad way out here with no help. But also should've in the sense that he ain't got nothing to live for anyhow. A few tarnished medals, a lifetime of regret, and a daughter who won't pick up the phone when he calls. Might as well be dead.

Karl picks up a new, clean target and starts trudging down the slight slope to the target, 400 yards away. He muses as he walks.

A month since the heart attack.

Colt shouldn't be able to hit s**t at 400 yards. Even if it could, Karl shouldn't be able to sight that accurately with a pistol at 400 yards. But ever since the heart attack, lots of weird s**t's been going on. Wakin' up, for starters. Wrinkles fading. Aches going away. Muscle tone returning. Hair growin' back brown, hell, growin' back at all. Karl had to cut his hair for the first time in twenty years last week. Lookin' in the mirror he looks twenty younger. He moves even younger than that. He's in better shape now than he's ever been, even at the top of his game back in 'nam. But the shooting...

When Karl sights down the barrel, his vision sights in, time slows, his hand steadies. And... something... something flows through him. The bullets fly faster and farther, hit harder, without making any extra noise. Karl can snipe with a pistol now, out to about 600 yards on a good day. You don't even wanna know what he can do with a REAL gun. It took a week of practice and his old trigonometry book to the the scope adjusted right. Same rifle, same round, same load, but the bullet leaves the gun at nearly 6,000 feet per. Which means the bullet is less effected by gravity and wind because it's in the air less time. Karl's had to rework all the shooting tables for every d**n gun he owns.

Which wasn't a problem, because it's all he has left. None of it matters a d**n anyhow.

Karl walks past the pistol target, heading to the new spot for the rifle's target, two and a half miles away.

NOW

Karl fires, not at the man, but at the weapon. One bullet is all it should take. Then, if the guy is smart, he'll freeze a bit, and they can talk.

Eddy knew Hell broke out in the car, he hoped that the best man won, but he really was not interested in yet another gunfight.

One near miss was quite enough. Time to leave.

Again he was fingering his knife in his pocket, careful not to press the button.

Which way? He had no idea now where his assailant could be - the only sign might be the impact of a bullet.Would that be so bad? Maybe. He had a lot of Sins to erase, and Sinners to save.

He had tried in the past, though the Lord had always put something in the way. One of his 'friends' had turned out to be an ex-paramedic, and kept him from meeting Saint Peter. Another time, some wino had grabbed him at the last moment, the freight train blasting by, its horn deafening. Saved from the ultimate Sin by a drinker of Satan's Piss.

He paused and looked back at the car, ignoring the wails of the sirens.

This most recent story was no accident. Like everything else, the Lord was guiding him and placed this opportunity before him. He needed friends, and he may have just made one.

Phil's head was leaking and oozing from the nose, ears, eyes and mouth. The rest of him was limp.

His scrambled-eggs brain had muffled the shots like a dense melon.

Looking quickly around, Dan spied a bow-tied parking attendant approaching the car from down a ramp and through the cracked back windshield a shadow of a figure. The bottle thrower?

Either way, time to go. Besides the SiG, a quick search of Phil's parka pockets revealed a cell phone, some loose cash, and what looked like a black, logo-less credit or bank card, with something akin to a bar code in a corner, its only feature.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

The Lizard indeed froze, as Karl's bullet hit its target, not the crawler, but his GA Precision Crusader sniper rifle. The single shot was perfect, too perfect in fact, and the damaged rifle, strapped to the Lizard's back only a second ago, was now free-falling, strap and all, minus its owner.

The "creature" looked up. Karl looked down. The crawler had goggles on and examined Karl for a moment with glazed bug-eyes, then started trying to break a window he was near, and scurry back inside the building.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Donovan shoved Phil's corpse out of the seat, cramming him into the floor. He didn't have much time, the whole scene was a huge mess. Dan draped the parka over the body, enough to cover it. Instead of a bloodied corpse, it looked like a parka-covered corpse.

Better than nothing.

Putting Phil's earthly belongings into the console storage, Dan straightened himself and adjusted the mirror. He could see streaks of blood covering his face. "Sh*t," he muttered, pulling napkins out of the glove compartment and wiping away what he could. He hated the smell of blood. It stunk like iron and insides, and even when you thought you wiped it away the smell would linger.

He threw the car into reverse. Pulling the flask from his jacket, he took a long swig before backing out. Time to go somewhere else.

Something caught his eye in the mirror. He hit the brakes and rolled down the window. "Hey," he said to the figure. "You throw that bottle?" He looked around quickly. "Get in," he said without waiting for an answer. He glanced in the passenger seat. "Probably want the back seat."

Karl watches the weird lizard man, still not sure enough to take a kill shot. Then he pulls his weapon away from the target and steps away from the edge of the roof, cursing to himself as he does. The godd**n phone won't stop, and Karl, pissed already, grabs it out of his pocket and answers without looking at the ID - not that he's used to all these newfangled doodads and gadgets anyhow.

"Goddammit, Teddy!" Karl only uses the kiddie name when he's pissed. "Goin' dark means goin' dark, not pester the hell out of me!"

"Well, I am alive thanks to you, so we'll call it even." He pulled out into the street. "Dan Donovan," he introduced himself. "Bloodhound, if you'd rather."

He stopped at a light, adjusting the mirror to get a better look at the man he'd picked up. He looked like a wretch, one of the thousands of dope fiends and meth heads the city was so graciously infested with. Still, the guy had done him a solid.

"So what's your story?" he asked as the light turned green. "And where's your favorite place to dump a body?"

"Edward Stringer, Eddy will do. I've been Chosen by Him to help save the Sinners from themselves.

Today you have been given more time to repent, and the other, his time has ran out. The Lord led me to you, chose me to help you.

We have something in common - someone tried to kill me too today, though he is still breathing I expect.

Where to dump the body? Praise the Lord it has not been something I've needed to worry terribly much, but I do know a stretch of rail where they don't raise a lot of attention. Might make a mystery of his last few moments. "

Phil didn't complain as his corpse was being dumped by Dan and Eddy along the rails of the serpentine maze of tracks.

A homeless guy squatting some distance away didn't complain either. He could barely make out the proceedings through his crack-haze.

With Phil taken care of, that left, well, nothing to do. Eddy stared at Dan, and Dan stared back at Eddy as he exhaled smoke.

As soon as they got back to the car, Phil's cell phone was singing, "Lust for Life" by Iggy Pop. Caller ID said, "Mr. C". Before Dan could decide whether to pick up the call or not, the song stopped. No voice mail.

Back to Manhattan they drove, through the battery tunnel, as late afternoon spilled over into evening.

Later still...

Dan couldn't afford the apartment he was living in. It was a loft somewhere in the nooks and crannies of Soho. Once he had shared it with his girlfriend, but she left him, everyone had left him, and had moved back to North Carolina. He was going to propose to her the very same night that he was kicked out of the NYPD, but when he got home with the ring, all that waited for him was a Dear John note, and her cat, Bonkers.

Bonkers meowed loudly when Dan stumbled in, followed closely by a nervous Eddy.

Dan popped open the fridge. Beer mostly. Three kinds of mustard and nothing to put it on.

He took a beer, and turned on the TV.

Eddy stood there taking it all in. When Dan had asked him where he should drop him off, Eddy stuttered through several options...homeless shelter, the hospital (hey it was warm there!), the old church on Broadway, Penn Station...

Dan sighed and offered Eddy a place to spend the night.

Now here they were.

TV blathered on and on. The evening news, when suddenly,

"And now, for a special report. According to numerous eye witness statements and reliable sources, the "Supers" are back in town. Yes folks, all your favorites from yesteryear! We now go live to Linda Velasquez in midtown..."

Hi John, and thanks. Yes, I am standing here with Ruud Schmekels, aka The Bouncer. As many of you know, The Bouncer was once one of the Fab Five, along with Professor Skate, Cherub, Hazmat, and the still missing, Artie Shaw, aka Wing-Man. It has been some years now since the repeal of the Supers Act by Congress, and slowly but surely, our favorite heroes are appearing in the Big Apple again!"

"Mr. Schmekels---""I prefer The Bouncer""Mr. Bouncer, then. What brings you back to NYC?""Looking for action, lady, and need to pay the bills. The clubs can't bounce themselves.""And so on...the interview with The Bouncer went on and on, without covering anything remotely interesting.

"For The Bouncer, I'm Linda Velasquez, now back to you in the Studio, John"

"Thanks Linda. Wow, the Bouncer. Remember him? Good times, good times. My personal favorite, I have to say, was always, Miss Sphinx, if you know what I'm saying, hehe...hrrm. Well, here's hoping no super villains are returning to town, along with all of our fractured heroes. And now a commercial break."

Eddy shifted on the sofa. He knew a few of those names. Knew Cherub quite well. A priest who worked at the Trinity church by Wall Street. Born in 1901, Cherub had always claimed his power was none other than immortality. And who could argue, he was still going strong at 114 years of age. Eddy had almost joined the Fab Five (Fab Six would never work) back in the day, but no one except Cherub would have him. Meth was a major issue for Eddy back then.

Dan's phone rang. Not Phil's, but Dan's. Taking a piss in the bathroom, Dan couldn't get to it in time. Voice-mail. It was his lone remaining buddy on the Force. The message was as follows:

"D, it's me. I'm not sure what you've been up to today, but there's an FBI guy looking for you. Stopped by the precinct, asked "How does one go about 'finding' The Bloodhound." A few of the guys told him to @!#$ off, a few said you were off the grid. I just ignored him. But he seemed intent, D. I mean like REALLY @!#$ing looking for you...ASAP. Ok, take care."

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

"Karl, it's me, yeah. Listen, there is big s**t going down and I can't get to you at the moment."

Karl shakes his head there on the rooftop, then turns to head for the fire escape, fastest way down. He's not gonna catch the creepy lizard guy, but maybe he can get to the weapon and just maybe someone can get print off it. It'd be wiped down by a pro if it were deliberately left, but a man bringing it with him might not have been as careful.

"I don't give a @!#$ about whatever big s**t you're takin' over at the eff-bee-aye, Ted." His voice is calmer than he feels, training taking over, muting his emotions. "All I care about is finding Katie. Best you can do for me is keep outta my way."

"What happened to Katie??!!" Ted sounds as alarmed as Karl feels. A little TOO alarmed. A little personal like. Karl makes a mental note to beat Teddy to a pulp later. Karl takes the fire escape steps two at a time as he answers.

"I don't know. Got a call. Katie says she's in trouble, then some other fella comes on the line and says I best get myself to this @!#$ing city if I wanna see her again. That's it. No instructions, nothing. So here I am, just like they wanted, only I ain't waitin'. I'm hunting."

Ted's quiet a sec. Then, "Oh well s**t....*thinks*...Listen Karl, there is a guy, who may be able to help. Ever hear of "Bloodhound"? Was a cop, not anymore. Dirty they say, but he's like you...i mean like *one of you*. Know what I mean? They say he can find ANYONE, ANYWHERE...i found his cellphone # though I cant find him yet. It's 555-3893..."

Karl sighs. He doesn't like trusting, needing, or relying on other people. But this is a big city. "Alright, I'll give him a call. And maybe you can help. Call from Kate came in on my home line. Don't got caller ID or any of that fancy s**t, but maybe you can pull the records. Easy to find. Only time the phone's rung the entire week."

Karl stops in the alley by the busted gun. "An' I left a present for you in the alley. Couldn't get the guy, but I got his gun. Wasn't expected to lose it, so maybe he left prints on it fer ya. I'll kick it under the dumpster 'fore I run. Now, I'm going dark for real. Try to remember what that means this time."

"Ok, listen. I will find you and help as soon as--"

Whatever else Ted has to say, Karl didn't catch as he hung up, then quickly dialed the other number as he walked out of the alley.

Donavan's phone rings again just as he puts it down. Doesn't recognize the number. He answers. "Yeah?"

Karl speaks in a gruff, kinda gravelly voice. "You the one some call Bloodhound?"

Donovan looks over to Eddy, who sits staring blankly on the couch. Donovan steps further into the kitchen, lowering his voice. "Maybe. Who's this?"

Karl knows "Maybe" means "Yes" on a question like that. "Name's Hathaway. I'm told you can find just about anything."

"Could be,” Donovan said. “What is it you're looking for, 'Hathaway?'" It sounded like a fake name. Not that it mattered.

"My daughter."

"Uh-huh," Donovan answered without skipping a beat. Wasn't the first time he had to find family. Would be a rarity if they turned up alive. "I need some context. Any idea what happened to her?"

Karl hesitated a moment, knowing the answer wouldn’t help. "Not a d**n. Got a call a couple days ago. Katie said she was in trouble, but then some feller come on the line and said I best get myself to New York if I wanted to see her again. Nothing else. No instructions, no demands, no place I s'posed to be in the godd**n city. No way to contact him. Just get to New York."

Donovan paused. Something about this didn't smell right. "No sh*t. Not a trace, huh? Alright, we'll have to meet up somewhere. Where are you?"

Karl grunted while driving the POS "Stayin’ in a s**t motel in a s**t neighborhood, using hookers for camouflage." Karl provides the name and address of the s**t motel in the s**t neighborhood, only a few blocks from some recent action. "I'm headin' back there now, just a couple blocks."

"Okay, I know the place.” Donovan thought a moment. “There's a little Chinese place down the block. Can't miss it, it stinks like squid. We'll meet there in an hour. You're gonna bring anything you have of Katie's. Clothes, personal items, letters, whatever you can find. A thousand cash up front. We can talk about the rest later."

Donovan chewed his lip for a moment. "Look, I don't normally say something like this, but don't strut that attitude too much. It sounds like you're dealing with a high player here. I don't know who, but keep your head down."

"Boy,” Karl was getting dangerously close to old man mode. “I was one-one for near thirty-five years. Didn't do nothin' but keep my head down."

"Yeah, Marine, I heard you. I'm just saying, don't talk to no one or do any stupid s**t like that. It'd do us both a favor."

Karl pulls the POS he bought for way too much from the hooker into the lot of the tavern she keeps it in. He can walk the two blocks back to the motel. "Don't you worry none. This ain't my first tour in the jungle. But so you know, I did get a call from a friend. A fed I met a few years back. He knows about Katie and he knows what I'll do to get her back safe."

Donovan runs through the list of Feds he knows through his head. There were more in the enemy column than the friend, but there wasn't much to do for it. "Look, sure it doesn't need to be said, but this is a no guarantee type situation, okay? I'll sniff out what I can, but I can only find 'em in, ah, whatever condition they're in."

"Understood,” Karl said, pushing down the fear those words brought. If you can't find her, or if you find her too late to help her... well then maybe you can help me find them what's hurt her and I'll do what I do."

Donovan nodded to no-one. "Well that bit would cost you extra, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Chinese place, one hour, thousand in cash." He suddenly remembered Eddy. "Oh, I'll be bringing my, uh, assistant too. Any questions?"

"One hour. I'll have my assistant too, but he stays quiet unless s**t hits the fan." And tucked into the back of his denim, Karl doesn’t add.

Donovan sighs. "Sure, more the merrier. Alright, see you there."

"Affirmative." Karl hangs up, then goes into his room. The hooker’s cleared out, nothin’ touched. He knew he picked good.

Eddy was restless, though he tried not to show it. Just like he tried to keep his hand from reaching for his non-existent smokes.

He saw Dan drink his Satan swill with barely hidden revulsion, but kept his own consul. He sensed right now was not a good time. He could be saved later.

Cherub was still alive, maybe he was right. Their last meeting had not gone well - theological differences as it were.

Eddy had availed himself of the shower and ‘borrowed’ a few items of clothes. He was tired of wearing Jeff’s civvies. Guess he would be wearing a few of Dan's, though they were quite a bit too big for him.

Poor Jeff. Wonder if they would still let him out? He would be so whacked out that when they found him he might do something stupid and get thrown back in. He hoped so - Jeff still needed time to be Saved, and he was certain to go back to Satan’s work.

He had run down through his mind the list of enemies that might want him dead, and have been able to find him so quickly. Very few fit both - most of those who really hated him were ignorant trailer-park trash, er less gifted of Gods children.

The Lizard?

Eddy would not have classified him as overly intelligent, but there certainly was no love lost between them. But the last he knew, the Lizard was in a Supermax, not the minimum security prison Eddy had so recently escaped. If he got out, and he found Eddy, than something very strange was going on. Satan had a hand in this, Eddy was certain.

As they got up to leave, Eddy looked over at Dan and looked meaningfully at the gun on the table. “May I?” Eddy said. He hated guns, but he also hated not having one. Like so many other things...

Dan nodded. "I was gonna suggest that. You know how to work one of those SIG Sauers?"

He strummed his fingers on the kitchen counter. After the whole Phil situation, he kind of wanted to take the rest of the day off. But he needed the work, and the money. "Look, I've got some work to do. Guy needs me to find someone. It's kind of my thing. How about you come with, keep an eye out? After today, I could probably use the help."

Fu King Lau's was packed as usual, ever-present squid-stench be d**ned.

Karl walked in at the precisely right time. He didn't have long to walk after all, but even if he had, he'd still arrive on time. Was his way.

A semi-interested waiter waved him over to a table toward the back. Fumes from the kitchen blew inside the dining room, harbingers of less than fresh seafood.

"You eat alone?" the waiter asked, with an angry look on his face, then plopped down a kettle of green tea and a cup.

Dan and Eddy strolled in fifteen minutes late. A few patrons looked up from their gloopy bowls, then returned to their dinners.

Quick look around, the Bloodhound was always careful, and ah, that must be "Hathaway" in the back, sitting by himself, looking the opposite of inconspicuous. Menu untouched, back ramrod straight, look of intent blazing in his eyes. Hmmm, this guy doesn't look as old as Dan assumed he would. Weird.

"Ahhh, Mr. Dan! Longtime no see you!" the waiter recognized Donovan. Knew him in fact from his less than dirty days as a cop. "You two eat?" He looked around but there were no other tables available, except the two connected ones where Karl sat. How convenient.

Passing the other tables, Dan thought he recognized a girl who was eating alone. Knew her from somewhere, not sure where. Couldn't put his finger on it. Well, whatever. As Eddy traversed the restaurant, he noticed a tv screen on a wall. Was on mute. CNN. There was an image repeating itself over and over, of several SWAT guys walking a *naked*, dejected-looking man with goggles on his forehead, toward a police van. Larry the Lizard! As Eddy stared, it seemed that Larry looked up for a second and stared at the camera, directly at Eddy! No @!#$ing way!

Eventually, the pair made it over to the seated Hathaway. The waiter described specials before they could say a word to each other. Squid with garlic sauce, squid with salt and pepper, squid with pork....you could have squid any which way your heart desired here at Fu King Lau's.

A text came in on Karl's phone at that precise moment from Teddy..."Checked the call, it came from a place called Sanctum...im guessing you never heard of it. It's a private club uptown, east side, in the seventies. All kinds of debauchery for the rich and bored, Karl. Not your kinda place. Can't even get in without membership. Hope that helps. Hope Katie's ok. I'll touch base as soon as I can."

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

The babe was so small and helpless in his arms. She fussed and fidgeted, half asleep. Barely a year old. Karl reaches down and wiped a fleck of blood off her. He wasn’t worried. Weren’t her blood. Behind him, a hut, in flames. He didn’t look back. He put a hand to his gut, still a little sore where the knife tore him to hell. Killing Linh... that had nearly broke Karl. The only thing that kept him going in the hospital was the promise he’d made her. Tonight, Karl kept his promise. Little Khanh Phuong was coming home with him. It was all arranged, with the help of the right connections and the right amount of money. And the men who had her. The ones who’d took Linh’s baby, who’d forced Linh to do what she done? Killing them was a helluva lot easier.

NOW

His back to the wall, with clear lines of sight to every door, Karl looks up at the approaching men. He waits quietly. He glances at his phone, then back up at the waiter. “Squid, Garlic Sauce. Rice, brown, not white. Fer three.” His eyes dismiss the man. As he slinks away, he looks over the pair. He doesn’t hide his opinion; it shows on his face. But none of that matters if this Bloodhound feller can find Katie. “Brown rice takes longer to prepare. They don’t usually have it just lyin’ around like white. We should have some time.” Karl indicates, with his eyes not his hands, the manilla envelope on the seat next to him. “This is everything I have. Her name was Kathryn Hathaway ‘fore she changed it back to her birth name, Khanh Phuong. Most recent photo I own is from her College Graduation in ‘92. But I found a picture on one o’ them social networking sites an’ printed that out, too.” Karl doesn’t add that it was a librarian who helped him figure that stuff out. When Bloodhound looks the older picture is one taken from a distance by a pretty decent camera, pretty vietnamese girl in cap and gown. A long shot, so he was already out of her life by then. “She’s a doctor now, surgeon. You can see... we ain’t close. Not my choice, but I reckon my fault.” Karl goes silent for a few seconds. “Other details I have, where she worked last I was able to check, some volunteer work she done. All in there. Along with your cash. All in there.” Karl picks up his tea and takes a sip. “She don’t care ‘bout me none, but I’m still her daddy. You help get her back safe. I’ll owe you more than money.”

Dan looked at the picture, then poked around the envelope. The money was there, which was nice - what he really wanted in the first place - but that was it.

"Yeah, picture's real nice, but is that all you got?" he asked, raising a helpless empty hand. "I'm not a traffic camera, I need, y'know, something tangible, something she touched. That's why I said clothes, personal items, jewelry, not profile pics." He flapped the paper in the air for emphasis.

He sighed and put it down, pulling his flask from his jacket. He'd refilled it at the apartment - day like this called for vodka - and was glad he'd brought it. Donovan threw back a long swig then wiped his mouth with a sleeve. "Alright. Miscommunication. My fault, I guess. You're from out of town, so I'm guessing you didn't bring much in the way of personal effects." He leaned forward, looking Hathaway in the eye. "Think hard now. You got anything - anything - she might've touched? Old tie for Father's Day, postcard from summer camp, doesn't matter how briefly or how long ago. Anything she touched might have a scent."

Kate picked at the squid with feigned interest, stirring it around on her plate absently, the smell slowly tying her stomach in knots, the thought of what it would do to her insides should she actually swallow any of it nothing she wished to ponder.

She had more important concerns at the moment, a text from a acquaintance she knew as "chopsticks" needing to discuss some matter of utmost urgency, well to him at any rate. Unless the job involved taking out more syndicate goons or taking a pretty piece of tail out for a night on the town, she really wasn't interested.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she recognized a familiar face slip past her table, Bloodhound! She smiled and nodded slightly in his direction, recalling the time she spent in his company a long while back finding that kidnapped girl. He reminded her a lot of her dad, same career choices, nearly same career ending and outlook on life now that she thought about it.

He barely gave her a second glance as he slipped past, but she knew he probably recognized her, he had a talent for noticing things everyone else overlooked. She glanced back down at her plate, half expecting the squid to entwine itself around her fork of it's own volition, wondering briefly if Chopsticks business involved Bloodhound in some fashion as well; before sighing and starting down at her watch, where the hell was he anyway?

Karl looks at Bloodhound, shaking his head. "Sorry, I don't got nothin. Ain't seen her closer than that grad photo since she left home twenty six years ago. She hasn't given me any--" Karl breaks off suddenly.

THEN

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" Karl looked at Katie in her best outfit. The 8th grade girl smiled pretty as a picture across the dinner table. Karl thought she was growin' up too d**n fast. What started as a promise turned into his daughter somewhere along the way, and he adored his little girl. "Thank you, darlin'." "Today is your answer birthday," Katie states with a certainty. Karl raised a brow at that. "My what?" "Forty-Two. It's the answer. I read it in this book." Karl was puzzled. "Must be some book. What's the question?" Katie laughed, a light sound. "Oh daddy. We don't know what the question is yet." Karl was more perplexed by that, and shook his head. But the puzzlement vanished as she produced a small box. "I made this for you, daddy. Happy Birthday." Smiling, Karl took the box and unwrapped it.

NOW Karl shakes his head, then reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a set of keys. The key chain shines like brass. He pulls the keys off and thunks it down. "Katie made this for me in shop for me birthday. More'n thirty years ago. Made it herself. Will it do? The men can see a .308 round, all shiny and metallic. "Sniper's round. Drilled it herself, cut the opener, attached the chain." He shakes his head. "Metal shop."

Dan lifted the opener by the key ring, almost gingerly, and twisted it in the restaurant's cheap fluorescent light. He gazed at it like a jeweler appraising a gem. After a long moment, he slowly put it down. "Alright. Should be able to get something from this." He nodded to Karl. "Won't take too long."

Donovan held the cartridge by the rim, twisting it as he thought. Karl's scent would be easy enough to tell apart. Shop teacher probably touched it, too, but he'd be long dead in the ground which had its own distinct odor. Beyond that, he couldn't imagine it passed too many hands. "Let's see here..." Lifting the cartridge up toward his nose, the Bloodhound exhaled then gave a long, deep inhale, the opener pressed against his flaring nostrils. He closed his eyes, trying to grab the scent...

If Eddy didn't like squid, it would have been impossible to tell, for he quickly finished his portion and began eyeing the leftovers. Some may turn up their noses at it, but the prison food he had been eating had been .. inadequate. Glutton!

His scrawny form hid the appetite, if not the demeanour, of a wolverine, something that tormented him when he was Inside. Never enough, and never very good.

He was unsure how the bullet would help. The way he was sniffing the bullet...

Kate glanced over at Dan's table, as she waited for Chopsticks. The ex-cop was holding some small object and concentrating. No wait, not concentrating, smelling?! The Bloodhound had caught a scent?

Waiter watched Eddy, oh he like squid! Eddy caught another glimpse of CNN on mute. The Bouncer again, this time showing off his bubbling muscles to reporters and standers by. Then suddenly Eddy's eyes glazed over and his heart-rate doubled. Oh oh. He closed his eyes involuntarily, and felt a familiar nausea. He was having a vision...

A figure, alone, sitting, in the center of a huge outdoor courtyard in some kind of super-max looking edifice. The figure looks up, Eddy doesn't recognize the face. But the eyes, oh Lord, the eyes! Pleading...begging for salvation. Then the unmistakable sound of a prison alarm. Then an explosion and all goes dark.

The Bloodhound's scent activated. Faint. So faint yet unmistakable. The weird sensations he barely understood flooded his brain. His five senses all participated in the search. After 20 seconds, even the waiter paused to stare at him. "Squid ok, Mr. Dan?" He asked nervously.

Dan stood there rubbing the bullet-chain. Finally he opened his eyes and sat down. All was known to him. Well, sort of.

A tiny red blip in his brain. A horrible stench in his nose. A hazy vision of water in his eyes. The sound of maniacal laughter in his ears, like an echo repeating. The texture of cold stone and metal on his skin. He knew where this girl was, but it seemed like bad news. She was somewhere smack in the middle of Long Island Sound. Hopefully an island, not the ocean bottom. He could pinpoint her location further, and eventually, precisely, if he physically followed the scent where it led him.

The waiter left and emerged again to clear bowls off tables, and slide plates of complimentary orange slices onto them. 1 AM. Closing time. Last call for squid (to go).

He passed Kate's table and casually deposited a note along with the orange slices.

"Kate, I had to go. I'm sorry. I needed to talk to you. We are all being hunted. You, me. All of *us*. I was going to tell you that and more in person, but someone is after me. I had to go ASAP. Mr. Celophane has contracts out on all the "freaks" I heard. Knew I worked here. Don't want to use phone. I think someone has poisoned me. Feel strange. Going to consult Cherub. You stay safe. I'll try to find you soon. Benny" [Chopsticks]

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.